I was hit by a car on my way to meet Professor Elie Wiesel for the first time. It happened just after I arrived in Boston from Paris, as I stepped out to cross Commonwealth Avenue. The car knocked me down, and I felt an intense pain in my right leg. I mumbled that I did not want to go to hospital—I couldn’t be late for my meeting. That month, March of 2003, was supposed to be one of solid memories and moments, yet it began in an ineffable glow.